Ghost
by HowObjectionable
Summary: Growing up with the Starks around him, he was like a ghost in Winterfell.
1. Catelyn

**Catelyn**

She watched them playing together, fighting with sticks in place of swords, her lips tightened into a frown. At her feet sat her daughter, preoccupied with her little doll, a gift from Benjen, sent from the Wall – a small, wooden thing with a few simple cloth dresses; a crude toy, but little Sansa adored it, taking it everywhere she went.

As she watched, he knocked her son down, holding his makeshift sword to Robb's chest and demanding that he yield. Catelyn half rose to her feet in alarm, only stopping as a third figure joined the boys in the yard. Ned laughed as Robb cried out in his high little voice that he would yield, and helped their son to his feet, ruffling the hair of the other boy with his hand, patting Robb's shoulder, and telling them to keep at it. He continued forward as the boys picked up their 'swords' again, and came through the archway to meet her.

Sansa stopped playing when she saw her father, reaching up until he lifted her high above his head until she cried out with laughter. Ned held her with one arm, turning and smiling at his wife. "How are you?" he asked her, taking a seat next to her on the bench. "Has the sickness passed?"

She nodded. "Ned..." she started.

He took his other hand, the hand that wasn't holding the girl on his lap, and rested it on her huge belly. As if feeling his father near, the babe within kicked out, causing a smile to break out over Ned's face. How she had grown to love his smile. "Son or daughter, that one will be a little warrior," he told her, smile not fading as he spoke.

"Ned," she said again. "I was speaking again with Marella, about the boy. She says her lord husband would be more than happy to..."

Her words died in her throat as the smile disappeared from her husband's face. "No, Catelyn," he said, his voice calm but final. "I have told you already..."

"But Ned, our new son..."

"Will not be harmed by having two brothers rather than one. Enough." He lowered their daughter to the floor, where she continued to play with her doll, unconcerned by the sudden chill between her parents.

"He will be better off surrounded by his true-born siblings," Catelyn said firmly. She was determined. "Your bastard..."

"Jon has been a fine enough playmate for Robb," Eddard interrupted, gesturing towards where the two boys were playing. "My heir."

"Yes, and you know my feelings on that! You yourself were fostered, Ned! The boy would be cared for, treated honourably. It would be like...like a proper family, would it not? He's _named _for your foster-father! It is not such a punishment!"

"I said _enough, _Catelyn!" Sansa looked up from her doll then, startled by the raised voice from her usually calm father. Ned was on his feet now. "Jon will be staying with us. I have told you over and over. I made a promise-"

"A promise to who, though?" Catelyn demanded. She felt herself getting upset, but she would stand her ground. "Who is his mother, Ned? You will not even give me that!"

"His mother...no, I have said time and again that the subject is closed. The boy is my..." Ned stopped and swallowed, looking pained and hesitant as he always did when this topic came up, every time during the last six years. He turned to the arch, watching the boys play. "Jon is my blood, just as Robb and Sansa are, and the babe not born."

"Nobody is denying he is your blood, Ned; he is your image. But..."

"He is my blood, Catelyn. I made a promise, and he is for me to care for, and I am all he has. I will not deprive him of a family, nor will I take away Robb's brother. That is all I have to say."

"But _Ned..._"

"No more." Ned turned back and lifted their daughter, who was looking bothered by the atmosphere now and sniffling besides. Without another word, he walked back out, towards his sons, leaving Catelyn alone.


	2. Eddard

**Some of these chapters will be sequential in terms of time - set around one event - while some of them will be stand-alone, like the previous chapter. And it is likely they will jump backwards and forwards in time too. Length will probably vary a lot. I apologise for the erraticness in advance.**

* * *

**Eddard**

He was strolling through the grounds after a particularly long morning of overseeing negotiations between two particularly loud townsfolk over one particularly fertile piece of farmland, glad for the quiet. It was so...strange, really, that it was so peaceful; he was so used to the voice of one of the residents or the other, or one of the children in his ear. It was so calm...

"Papa!"

Ned tried to hide the smile on his face as he looked up at the low roof on the building to his right. He shielded his eyes from the sunlight, looking up at the tiny figure leaning over the edge. "Bran, how did you get up there?" he asked, unable to quite sound as disapproving as he wanted to.

Bran gave a not-quite-fully-toothed grin. "I climbed!" he said proudly.

"You know how your mother feels about you climbing."

Like most three year old boys, Bran was remarkably good at looking innocent. "I _had _to!"

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Come down now, Bran. You won't get into trouble, I promise. It'll be our secret this time."

"No, no, Papa! I _had _to! They're fighting again!" Bran pulled himself to his feet, balancing on the roof edge in a way that never failed to amaze Eddard Stark. Jory had said to him once, 'that boy of yours was climbing before he could walk, and will be climbing until he can't', and Ned was inclined to agree with him. The boy pointed across the roof towards the courtyard on the other side. "Jon 'nd Theon!"

As if to confirm his words, a high-pitched little shriek was heard. "_Stop it!" _That was Arya.

At that moment, Bran was probably safer than any of the children in his care - with the exception of Sansa, who was currently with her mother and little Jeyne Poole - so Ned had no issue in leaving him on the roof as he bolted around the corner to where the voice had come from. Right there, fighting, were Jon and Theon, wooden practice swords lying abandoned a few feet away. Robb was standing next to them, looking clearly distressed as he shouted himself hoarse at the two to stop, while Arya was hitting the fighters intermittently with a stick, no doubt her idea of how to make them stop.

Without a word, Ned strolled over, signalled to Robb, and pulled Theon away as Robb grabbed Jon. "What is going on?" he demanded. Theon shrugged him off, while Jon pulled away from Robb. Both stared at the ground, neither prepared to answer him. Eddard stared at them for a few seconds, gave up, and turned to Robb, who now had a hand on Arya's shoulder to prevent her from 'helping' more.

Robb looked reluctant to say anything; something his father understood: when he was a lad, he was always loathe to tell tales on his brothers. To Robb, of course, that was what both of these young men were, to one extent or the other. But Robb was his heir, and Robb knew his duty. He pulled himself together with all the power of an eleven year old. "We were talking about what I'd do when I'm Lord of Winterfell," he told his father. "Jon had just beat Theon at our last fight, and they were getting a bit...rowdy, so I suggested we took a break. So I told them what I'd do, and then Arya told us all that when _she _was Lord of Winterfell..." Here, Robb paused, his mouth twitching slightly upwards at the corners.

"And then Jon said that he'd be lord before I was," Arya piped out, sticking her tongue out at her half-brother. "He said a girl couldn't _be _Lord of Winterfell! That's so unfair!"

"...and then Theon...Theon said 'I'll be lord of this place before you are, bastard'," Robb continued, keeping a straight face as best as he could. "And then Jon got angry and said that at least he was _with _his father, and Theon jumped on him. I tried to separate them, but..."

Ned nodded. "Robb, take Arya and fetch Bran from the roof for me. Take them to see the horses, please."

Robb nodded, with an apologetic look at both of his "brothers", and took Arya by the hand and fled.

"You two," Ned said, turning on them. "Do either of you have an explanation for this behaviour?"

"It was his fault!" they both said at the same time. Ned marvelled at the similarity between the boys are they glared at each other.

"Theon," Ned said after a few seconds of silence. "You are my guest here at Winterfell. I treat you as well as I can, but in turn I would appreciate it if you did not attack and provoke my kin...and that includes Jon. You are bigger and stronger than he is, and four years older besides. I should have thought you would have known better."

Theon looked at the ground, kicking a rock. "Yes, Lord Stark. I'm sorry."

"Apologise to Jon, please."

"Sorry," Theon practically spat. Jon smirked, but the smirk was wiped off his face as Eddard turned to him.

"Jon," Ned said. "You know as well as I do that you cannot afford to be making trouble around here."

"But it was _Theon-" _The boy said, rankled by the injustice.

"I don't care who started it, Jon. You are my son, yes, but you are also not true-born, and you are well aware of my lady wife's feelings towards you staying here. You will make both of our lives easier if you don't participate in any more trouble. I would appreciate a little more gratitude. From both of you."

Jon looked suddenly sullen, not making eye contact. "Yes, Father. I'm sorry, father."

"And to Theon."

"Sorry," Jon said, without so much as glancing at the other boy.

Ned turned to walk away again, and then paused, turning back to them. "You two are like ice and fire; as powerful as you are mismatched. But for my sake, and for the sake of Robb and Sansa, of Arya and Bran, you must at least attempt to get on together." Ned's eyes lingered on Jon, on his hair and on his eyes. "You may be outsiders, boys, the ghosts of Winterfell. But while you are here, you are my family, and families must stay close. This has been a long, long summer, and I hope it lasts a long time, but you must always remember that winter is always coming."


	3. Robb

**Robb**

"You were stupid today, Jon." Robb perched at the end of his half-brother's bed, where the latter was sitting cross-legged on his pillow, whittling a piece of wood down to nothing with the ferocity of a boy wronged. Jon looked up, a sullen look in the grey eyes half-hidden in the mess of dark hair, and not for the first time Robb was keenly aware of how much the other boy took after their father.

"Come in," Jon said dryly, with a glance at the door which Robb had just walked through. "It's open."

Robb sighed. He got to his feet, walked over to the wooden door and knocked his knuckles against it, three times, before returning to his seat. "What did Father say?" he asked him.

"Why don't you go and ask Theon?" Jon suggested moodily, resuming his work with the knife.

Robb was indignant. He was tired of this feuding; he cared for both Theon and Jon as any brother does, and he couldn't understand why the two couldn't just get along. They did nothing but trouble his father, and make life difficult for Robb himself when he was placed in the middle. "I took no sides, Jon," he told him firmly.

"But you didn't defend me either. I am your brother!"

"As is Theon."

"He is _not!_" Jon shoved the knife and the shreds of wood aside. "_I _am your brother! We share a father, Robb, and we have been raised together from birth. Theon dislikes me and treats me badly for it, and you do nothing to defend me! You treat him as a friend, as a member of your family. It isn't _fair."_

"My mother dislikes you, and treats you badly for it. Should I treat her as an enemy? Should I exclude her from my family?" Robb demanded testily. Jon's mouth snapped shut, with a look of one struck, and Robb immediately felt guilty. He had not intended to be hurtful. "It isn't fair," he agreed, more quietly. "It isn't fair that Theon is treated more as family than you are where my mother is concerned. But neither is it fair that Theon is not allowed to be with his own family. He has been here since he was younger than we are now, Jon, around four years now. Four years away from his own family, it is the least we can do to let him be part of ours."

"Ours?" Jon said, his voice bitter. "I am not a Stark."

"But at least you are not a Greyjoy."

Jon was silent, apparently pondering what had been said. "To treat him as a brother, though. He has been here such a short time..."

"Longer than Bran. Does that make Bran not my brother?" Robb asked, a small smile now on his face.

Jon grunted, which Robb took as acknowledgement of his logic. "I will never like him," Jon said.

"And Arya and Sansa will never be particularly close," Robb replied with a nod. "But sisters they are, nonetheless."

Jon nodded. "Alright. I'll try. But you will need to speak with Theon, too; he starts a lot of our fights. Like today."

"I'll speak to Theon," Robb promised. "Now, what did Father say?"

Now Jon was smiling. "What does Father ever say?" he asked, a glint in his eyes.

Both boys spoke together then, in voices respectfully teasing of their father. "Winter is coming!" They laughed together. and Robb placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "I cannot promise I will get through to Theon," he said. "He's as resentful as you are, do you know that?"

Jon looked surprised. "Resentful?"

"At being an outsider. More so, maybe; my mother cares for you not, but Lord Stark is your father. It's part of the reason you irritate him so much."

Jon had a thoughtful look on his face as Robb got to his feet and headed to the door. Robb stopped, turned to face his father's son once more. "You may never be a Stark, Jon Snow," he said. "But you were my first friend, and you will always be my true brother."

The surprised, happy look on his brother's face was the last thing Robb saw as he closed the door behind him.


	4. Arya

**Arya**

As her mother had reminded her, she was a _lady, _not a boy - "although by all accounts, Bran is _much _better behaved than you are when he does keep his feet on the ground," Catelyn had added, pulling the stupid bow in Arya's hair a bit too tight.

"And he's _younger _than you, and only five besides," Sansa added, in that annoying 'I'm-better-than-you' tone that only Sansa could ever manage. "Honestly, Arya, you're so _embarrassing._"

Her mother had a firm hand on her shoulder, else Arya would have attacked her sister right then. It was _Sansa's _fault she'd been in trouble at all, teasing her and showing off and being stupid; it was ALWAYS Sansa who started these things, and _always_ Arya who got the blame. It wasn't fair; Arya knew she wasn't a boy, but if being a lady meant being like Sansa with her stupid giggles and silly friends then Arya wasn't interested at all.

Nevertheless, today she must do as she was bid. Today, she was to sit at the high table with her father and brothers and her sister. Well, two of her brothers; Robb and Bran were the only two who would be there. She found herself jealous of Rickon, little baby Rickon who was two and was allowed to sit out for most of this important...thing.

The _thing _was a dinner, held in honour of some lord or the other. Arya had tried her best to pay attention as the septa and her mother had both gone over it, but she had been far, far too uninterested and felt her eyes glazing over even as she thought about it. As she sat there at the table, she found it was about as interesting as her imagination had promised; her father was talking to the lord while Robb listened intently - what was the lord's name? Sansa could have told her, but she wouldn't ask Sansa - while Bran crumbled his bread into his soup, clearly as bored as she was, but at the opposite end of the table and impossible to communicate with. Sansa and her mother were chatting away to the lady and her daughters about something which Arya was sure would put her to sleep if she dared listen.

She cast her eyes around the room, looking for something, _anything _to keep her attention...and her eyes met eyes that looked just like hers, staring back at her from across the room. Jon stuck his tongue out at her, and Arya giggled, making a face back. This kept her entertained for approximately fifteen minutes, before Sansa noticed, told their mother, and a stop was put to her fun. As it always was when Sansa was involved.

Finally, the feast was all but over. Dessert was served, cakes and cream and fruit all looking colourful and bright, but not even the lemon cakes in front of her could make Arya want to stay in the hall a second longer. But, of course, she had to, as Rickon was brought into the hall, groggy from being woken from his nap, and given to their mother to hold. It was time for the presentation, as Arya always thought about it.

The five Stark children and their mother and father stood together just in front of the table, and Lord Whatshisname and his lady wife came over and, as far as Arya was concerned, examined them all like cattle. Then Lady Somethingortheother smiled at Catelyn and said, "You have a lovely family."

"The gods have seen fit to bless me with five beautiful children," Catelyn replied, a note of fondness in her voice. "For that I am eternally grateful."

"As you should be," the other lady answered with a smile.

"Six," Arya corrected.

"Your eldest daughter looks just like you; all of them do," the lady continued. "Well, except for this little one, but she clearly takes from her father."

"_Six."_

"That's enough, Arya," Robb said quietly from her side, a restraining hand on her arm.

"My father has _six _children," Arya continued, shaking her brother off, speaking more loudly.

Her mother glared at her, but Arya didn't flinch.

"O...oh!" the lady replied. "Are you...are you with child, my lady?"

"No," Catelyn replied stiffly. "My daughter is just..."

"I'm _so _sorry about Arya, my lady!" Sansa said loudly, stepping in front of Arya. "She can be foolish sometimes, she doesn't know when to keep her stupid mouth shut."

"Sansa, enough," Ned interrupted. "You too, Arya. I think you both..."

"I am _not _stupid, and I am _tired _of you calling me stupid!" Arya snapped. "I seem to be the only one here who knows how to _count._ I have four brothers!"

_"_Jon Snow is not our proper brother, he's only our _half-_brother," Sansa drawled, in her most annoying lecturing voice. "He's a bastard, Arya! Do you know what that means? That's why he does't look like any of us!"_  
_

"He looks like me!"

"Well maybe you're a bastard too!"

The whole room was silent now, everyone staring, but Arya didn't care. Shewas furious. How _dare _Sansa talk to her like that? She was such a...such a...

"I _wish _I was a bastard!" Arya spat at her. "I _wish _I was like Jon, because then I wouldn't have to be _your _proper sister!" She looked down at the table, taking in the dessert still lying in front of her place. The moist yellow sponge, covered with the creamy white icing and little bits of lemon zest on top decorating it to perfection, drizzled in cream, _drowning _in cream, a tiny yellow iceberg in a white sea. And Arya reached over, and she picked up the plate, and she threw the contents directly at her sister's face, and ran out of the room without another word.


	5. Sansa

**Sansa**

"I _hate _her! Why does she have to ruin _everything?" _Sansa fumed, pacing up and down while Jeyne made sympathetic sounds, agreeing that yes, Arya was the most annoying sister in all of Westeros and that Sansa was so brave, so _patient, _to even have put up with her for so long. Sansa allowed her friend to tie the ribbon around her clean new dress - the old one was perfectly _ruined _- and continued her rant.

"Who does she think she is?" she continued, as Jeyne brushed out her hair, "I am her older sister! It's not _my _fault that Jon is who he is, it's not _my _fault he's a bastard! She should be looking up to me, not to him! She acts like some sort of...some sort of..._animal! _I mean, to throw food about like that! And in front of our visitors, too, it's so..."

She was silent, the rage consuming her and rendering her momentarily wordless. It wasn't that she didn't care about her sister. She _had _to, didn't she? It wasn't like she had any choice; it was only proper for a lady to love and care for each member of her family. Jon Snow didn't count - although the voice in her head muttered to her that he wasn't all that bad, but she ignored it - because he was just her half-brother, just a bastard that their father had brought home and brought up alongside his trueborn children. Jon was less than Theon; Theon was an honoured guest, but Jon Snow shouldn't even be here. For him to chase after her like he did, instead of Robb taking the silly girl in hand! How shameful. How _dare _Arya embarrass them like that? And for what? For a sullen little bastard - as Theon had put it - who acted like a little lordling. For a boy, Sansa added, who didn't even look like them! A boy who was so different from her other brothers. A boy who-

"Jeyne," Sansa said slowly as an idea struck her. "Jeyne, why is Jon Snow so different from the rest of us?"

"Because he's a bastard, I suppose?" Jeyne asked, a hint of confusion to her voice - she was not aware of the context of the fight at the feast, only the aftermath. "But he's not all different, he takes from your father. And Arya is like him too, I suppose."

"Yes, she is!" Sansa replied, excited now, her brain working much more quickly. "But why would Arya take so much from my father, when Robb and Bran and Rickon and I look so like my lady mother?"

"Coincidence? I heard some of them saying that she looks a lot like your lord father's late sister, your aunt, Lyanna, the one that died."

"Yes but _why?"_

Jeyne shrugged, looking at Sansa with an expression both confused and curious. "I don't know, why?"

Sansa grinned widely, waving at her friend to follow as she dashed back down to the hall, where her family still sat, in a strained conversation with the visiting lord and his own family. "Mother!" she cried, causing everyone to look up except Bran and Rickon - the latter was asleep, curled up on his father's lap, while the former nodded off, leaning against Robb and desperately trying to stay awake. "May I speak with you for a moment?" Behind her, Jeyne finally caught up, panting, but Sansa ignored her.

"I am entertaining guests, Sansa."

"Just a moment," she pleaded, meeting Catelyn's eyes, imploring her. She had to ask, she had to _know!_

Catelyn sighed, made her apologies, and followed Sansa just outside of the door. "What is it?" she asked.

"Is Arya a bastard too?" Sansa blurted, so fast that her mother seemed not to understand straight away. She watched as Catelyn's face changed, from confusion, to understanding, to complete befuddlement.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Well she doesn't look like us and she's so like Jon Snow and she acts different and-" But her mother was shaking her head.

"No, she is not."

"But how can you be sure?" Sansa demanded.

Catelyn laughed a little then. "How do you think?"

Sansa stared at her, confused, and then felt herself colour. "Oh..."

"Yes," Catelyn replied with a smile. "Arya is stubborn, and wilful, and takes strongly from your father's side, but she is no bastard. Of that, at least, I am certain."

Sansa nodded, feeling a curious sense of disappointment as they re-entered the hall together. "Mother?" she asked as the door swung open.

"Yes?"

"Do you hate Jon Snow?"

That, Catelyn didn't answer.


	6. Arya II

**Arya**

She sat there, ripping flowers apart with perhaps more zeal than was required, huddled in the secret cove in the roots of the giant tree that Robb and Jon had shown her and Bran when they grew too old to play in it. Whoever grew these flowers probably wouldn't be too happy, but they were so pretty, so delicate and beautiful and _perfect _that Arya felt they were the best substitute on which to vent her frustration. The small pile of petals beside her grew as the macabre bouquet she'd ripped from the ground was gradually ripped down to nothing.

A shadow fell over the mouth of Arya's cove. So they'd come to fetch her then. "Go _away, _Robb," she shouted. "I'm not coming back, I won't say sorry! I _won't!_ You know as much as I do that what I said was _right!_" The shadow said nothing, just got bigger as its owner moved closer. "And you just told me to be quiet, Robb! I hate you, too, so _there!_" The shadow stopped moving, and Arya instantly felt guilty. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say that. It's just _Sansa..."_

"You don't hate Sansa either, little sister," said Jon's voice, _Jon, _not Robb. He crouched into a sitting position, grinning in at her as she stared. He put in a hand to help her out, which she accepted, half-crawling into the sunlight. She sat on the stone ledge nearby, and Jon sat next to her, both silent for a number of minutes.

"I do," Arya said finally. Jon just smiled, and ruffled her hair. She made a big show of pushing him away, but both knew that she really didn't mind. She was actually quite pleased when he did it, it made her feel proud that she had defended him. But even so... "Jon, I _do _hate Sansa. She's so _horrible _to you!"

"She doesn't mean to be," Jon replied. "She's just your mother's daughter."

"Mother shouldn't be horrible to you either! Why are you defending Sansa?" Arya demanded. How could he? How could he defend their sister? It made Arya herself feel a little put upon, how dare Jon defend Sansa when Arya had went to such lengths to defend _him _against her? And to use her lady mother as an _excuse _for Sansa! It didn't make any sense, how could he be happy with being treated like that by her,_ his _father's wife?

"Sansa's my sister," Jon explained, his voice gentle, not responding to the outrage in Arya's voice. "And your lady mother isn't horrible to me, Arya. She isn't _anything _to me."

"How can she be like that, though? You've been here just as long as Robb! You're my father's son, if not hers."

Jon was silent for a few long moments. Arya stared at him, struggling to understand; what was going on in his head? Why didn't he hate them when they obviously hated him? Why-

"How would you feel," Jon started, staring at a patch of grass in front of him but clearly speaking to Arya, "If Lady Catelyn was to visit her brother, for example, and to return with a babe? Would you expect Father to raise it as his own, even if it was a stranger's child? Even if your mother wouldn't share with him who her new child's father was?"

"My father would raise it as his own," Arya said stoutly.

"Would he? Even though the babe would just remind him of your mother's unfaithfulness?" Jon asked, looking up at her, meeting her eyes, and suddenly Arya wasn't sure.

"I-" She paused, unable to answer the question - how could she? He was right, but Jon had been with them as long as Robb has. Surely her mother should be used to him by now? Another thought came to her then. "Do you...do you still not know who your own mother is?"

"I'm sure our father has his reasons," Jon said, looking back at the grass.

"Does it bother you?"

"No," Jon replied. "I have my family, my father, my brothers and my sisters. Even Sansa," he added, turning and making a face at Arya, who giggled. She wasn't sure of how truthful he was being, but even she could tell he wasn't going to say any more about it.

"She still shouldn't talk about you like that," Arya said, stubborn again. "My mother might have a reason, but Sansa doesn't."

"Perhaps your sister is just more Tully than Stark?" Jon asked wryly. "She certainly is the most like your mother. What are their words, again?"

"_Family. Duty. Honour," _Arya answered immediately. "Why?"

"There's nothing that goes against those words quite as much as a bastard," Jon said with a rueful grin.

"You want me to apologise?" Arya asked after a long pause.

"Yes," Jon replied. "Come on, let's get it over with." He got to his feet, offering a hand, which Arya took after a moment's hesitation. If Jon would insist on her apologising, she may as well do it.

"Why didn't Robb come out to get me?" Arya asked, as something of an afterthought as they walked. "It should have been him if not father."

"I thought that maybe I'd be better to talk to you in this case," Jon replied, squeezing her hand. "Robb sat back down as soon as I stood up, so I think he agreed.

He led her into the building, back through the wide doors into the hall. Those still inside looked up when the heavy wooden doors creaked open. At the high table, Arya's father, mother and siblings (excluding Rickon and, of course, Jon) sat in various stages of communication with their visitors. Theon was there too, she noticed. Jon was unfazed, pulling Arya gently along to the opposite end of the hall, which suddenly seemed much further away as they all sat staring. They finally reached the front centre of the table, where nobody spoke for a moment.

Jon let go of Arya's hand. "Go on," he hissed, giving her a nudge.

Arya glared at him, rubbing her shoulder, and then turning back to the table. "I'm sorry for acting badly, mother," she muttered. Nobody said anything. Jon nudged her again. She sighed inwardly, _fine. _"And I'm sorry I threw lemon cake at you, Sansa," she added. "You look very pretty in your new dress."

Sansa sniffed, and gave what she must have thought was a gracious nod. Jon patted shoulder, obviously not wanting to go as far as mussing her hair in front of company, and then spoke. "I'll take my leave now, Father," he said. "Lady Catelyn," he added, with a bow of his head. As Arya watched, Ned smiled at him, and - no. Amazingly, incredibly...her mother nodded back.

She saw Jon look amazed, turning quickly to hide it and then walking quickly out of the hall. Arya took a seat next to Bran, who silently pushed his own remaining cake towards her, for which Arya was instantly grateful.

"May I be excused, Father?" Robb asked. Ned nodded, and Robb went after Jon, probably to congratulate him on bringing their unruly sister back.

Arya looked at her mother, who had went back to her conversation with the visiting lady. Had she really nodded back at Jon? Was she grateful for what he'd done, or had Arya imagined it.

"Just eat the cake, Arya," Bran advised when he caught her staring, and Arya decided to take his advice.


	7. The Innkeep's Daughter

**The Innkeep's Daughter**

Nita Gosley was, by anyone's standards, far from homely. She was a tall girl with wild, wheat-coloured curls which she tied up high on her head, full breasts which managed to be noticeable no matter what she wore, and wide hips - her mother often boasted that she would get many grandchildren thanks to her daughter's hips. Today was Nita's fifteenth nameday, and she was celebrating in the way she found most appropriate - with two of the lordlings from Winterfell.

She was their first kiss, she was certain; both of them. Nita had kissed them both within a half hour, first the gallant redhead and then the tall, silent one. Both kisses had been much more chaste than Nita had grown accustomed to, but the boys, both around two years younger than her, had both seemed pleased with their lot. Now the three sat on the grass, Nita sitting as close as possible to the dark one. He may be younger than she, but she found herself drawn to him somehow.

"Do you two share everything, then?" Nita asked, her eyes wide with innocence even as she smirked, leaning back, arms stretched out behind her to prop her up.

"Just about," replied the redhead - Robb - with a grin.

"Do you always allow yourself to be shared?" countered the other one, Jon. Nita found her own smirk getting wider, rather than taking the offence which she usually would.

"I am no whore," she replied, mock-offended. "And even if I was, neither of you seemed to mind a moment ago."

"Jon, watch how you speak to the lady," Robb chided with a glance towards his brother.

"I am no lady either, m'lord," Nita laughed. "You know my name, Nita the innkeep's daughter, no more. Hardly proper company for two young lords such as yourselves."

Jon smiled again. "I do not think that will be a problem, my la-Nita."

The three lapsed into silence for a few minutes.

"I am a maiden, though. A woman, but a maiden nonetheless," Nita added, interrupting the silence, much to the embarrasment of both of them. Robb went almost as red as his hair, while Jon immediately turned his face away from her.

"I...think that this is not our business, my lady," Robb said, coughing over his embarrassment.

"Nita," she insisted. "Do you not have sisters? Surely this is nothing to be flustered over."

"Yes, but this is more in my lady mother's department," Robb answered.

Nita laughed again. Perhaps it had been a little strange to mention it, but it had felt like she should. After all, she was fifteen now; high time, her mother said, she started looking seriously for a husband, and she'd heard that the 'best' men liked their women to be maids when they wed. She knew full well that she was far below these two young lords, but that would not stop her from playing with them a little - especially not the one beside her.

"So which one of you two is the elder?" she asked, after leaving them to cool down from their mortification.

The two brothers glanced at each other, before, to her delight, Jon spoke. "Robb is the eldest," he told her, turning to face her again.

"Oh, good. I would have no chance with the heir to the lordship, but perhaps I still have a chance with you, m'lord?" she said, grinning again. Robb and Jon exchanged glances again, glances she didn't understand, and both were silent. "I was japing, m'lord," she said after a long stretch of nothing. "I am no lady, as I said; I know I am far below you. After all, you'll be next in line, won't you?"

"Do not call me that. You are more noble than I ever will be," Jon said, getting to his feet and storming off.

Nita turned to Robb, bewildered, and the latter just sighed, loudly, as if this had happened many a time. "Jon!" he called after him, but the other didn't turn around. He turned back to Nita. "I'm sorry," he told her. "You should probably leave now. Thank you for today, it was very nice to spend time with you."

"Wha-"

"Jon is touchy about the subject of inheritance," Robb explained, getting to his feet. "Surely you have heard about Lord Stark's bastard."

"_Jon _is the bastard?" Nita asked, stunned now. "But he looks so much like your father!"

"Yes, well," Robb replied. "Perhaps we'll see you again some time, my lady. Nita."

He walked off after the other boy. Nita stared after them for a moment, shook her head, and started back to town. Perhaps the carpenter's son was still interested in her attentions. These lordlings were far too much for her.


	8. Bran

**Bran**

"And the men of the Watch raised their swords, knowing in their hearts that this battle could well be the last, both for themselves and for the realms they were sworn to protect. They faced outwards, north of the north, watching, waiting, for the monsters to come, some of which may even have once been brothers of their own. Silent encouragement, prayers and goodbyes flew between them, and then the first of the footsteps was heard, far away, but coming closer. And as the men gripped their swords, tighter, holding them higher...winter fell."

Bran gasped, clutching the pillow he had been hugging to himself for the last twenty minutes. "What...what happened next?"

"Next, little lords and ladies must be in their beds," Old Nan answered, with a wisp of a chortle at the groan from the two youngest children in the room.

"But _Nan, _we're not babies like Rickon!" Arya protested. "Just because _he _is in bed doesn't mean we have to be!"

Tonight, they were gathered in Robb's room - Robb and Jon had both protested that they were both getting too old for the stories now, but both of them were here, Robb leaning against the wall next to the window while Jon perched on the side of the bed, his hand on Bran's shoulder - which had nothing to do with the fact that Bran had been shaking a little at the story, none at all. Arya sat, crosslegged, at Robb's feet, while Sansa sat in one of the room's two chairs, dragged over to a good listening position. Rickon had long since fallen asleep and been taken to bed, and Theon, older even than Robb, had stoutly told them that he was too busy for their stories this week.

And now Old Nan was shaking her head, smiling. "Come on, now," she said, looking from Arya, to Sansa, to Bran himself. "To your own bedrooms."

Sansa was the first to move, reluctantly rising to her feet. She helped Arya up, then approached Bran. He hesitated, slowly lowering the pillow - he wasn't scared, it was just a silly story, after all. He just wished he knew how it had finished.

"You too, Jon," Nan croaked. "Unless you and young Robb have taken to sharing your sleeping quarters as well as everything else?"

Bran watched as his older brothers caught each other's eyes and grinned. "Bran's feeling a bit scared," Jon said.

"I am not!" Bran protested, still not quite having relinquished his pillow.

"Yes," Robb chimed in, "And Arya was shaking a little too."

"No I wasn't!"

"So do you mind if we keep them here for a little while?" Jon continued. "Just until they feel better."

"We'll tell them another story and send them right to bed after," Robb added.

Bran was left to marvel. His brothers were usually so different from one another, but when they teamed up, they always got smiles and agreements - except from Bran's mother, of course, but that was beside the point. Old Nan just sighed, letting out what sounded like a friendly cackle and saying "make sure you do," as she left, closing the door behind her.

Robb approached them now, and Arya climbed up onto the bed, taking a seat next to Bran. Sansa hesitated in front of them, before gracefully sinking into a cross-legged position in front of them. Jon stood, and he and Robb did that look again before each of them took one of the now vacant chairs.

"Father's older brother, Brandon, was a very brave and handsome man, an excellent tourney rider and fighter" Robb started, with a grin towards Bran, who instantly felt himself swell with pride at being associated with him namesake. "Women adored him, and men longed to be like him, and unlike our lord father, he very much enjoyed all the attention which he received and deserved."

"His best friend, apart from Father, was their sister, Lyanna," Jon continued. "She was a lady by name, and very beautiful, but a fierce, wilful young lady who very much had her own mind."

Bran looked sideways at Arya, who was sitting up straight with a grin on her face.

"One day, before the Rebellion, when Father was out riding with Uncle Benjen, Lyanna and Brandon went on a trip together," Robb told them. "In the middle of the forest, they came across a mysterious woman who promised them two wishes each."

"This is silly!" Sansa objected, and Bran frowned, drawn out of the story. "This never happened, you two are making this-"

"The mysterious lady was more beautiful than even Lyanna, with shining auburn hair and wide blue eyes, and both of the Starks were stunned into silence by her gracefulness," Jon interrupted, and, surprisingly, Sansa was silent. "So Brandon turned to Lyanna, and told her to make the first wish. And Lyanna turned to the beautiful lady and wished for..."

"A sword!" Arya exclaimed, and Jon grinned.

"A small sword," he agreed, "That she could hide away where no one would see it, so nobody could object."

"And then it was Brandon's turn," said Robb, and Bran was sure he saw him smirk at Jon. "Brandon was as wise as he was strong, so he took a few minutes to think. And when he finally did make a wish, it was...Bran, do you know?"

"He...wished for...a fine horse?"

"That's right! He wished for a fine horse, and his old, knackered mare was instantly transported back to the stables to live out her life in peace, and was replaced with a large, grey stallion. And then the mysterious lady, who was clever as she was beautiful, said to them that they must be careful with their last two wishes, because they would not be allowed any more."

"So Lyanna and Brandon looked at each other," Jon said, "And they decided that each of them would use their wishes on someone else. And Brandon wished for their youngest brother, Benjen, that he would be brave and strong, and rise the highest he could wherever he went."

"And then Lyanna wished for their other brother, Ned, that he would marry well and have children as strong and brave as Brandon," Robb continued, smiling at Bran, who beamed back at him.

"And as clever and independent as Lyanna," Jon added, grinning at Arya.

"And as graceful and beautiful as the mysterious lady," finished Robb. "And the lady granted the wishes, promising that one day these things would come to pass. And so they did."

"Now, Uncle Benjen is First Ranger, and Father has children who are as strong, and beautiful, and clever as Lyanna wished," Jon said, glancing at Robb. "Who are, in fact, clever enough to know that when the moon is so high in the sky, it really _is _time for them to go to bed."

Bran blinked as Robb stood and approached him and his sisters, and then giggled. He had to admit, that was a fairly clever trick. And, he supposed, he _was _tired.

"But what about you?" Sansa asked, still looking at Jon as Robb helped Bran and Arya to their feet again. There was none of the usual malice in her voice as she posed the question. "You're not..."

"He might not be a Stark, Sansa, but he is still Father's son," Robb told her.

"So Jon still gets the good things we do from the wishes?" Bran asked, as Robb led him and his sisters out of the room.

"You're the good things from the wishes," Jon said from behind them, with a laugh.

Arya and Sansa were taken to their respective bedrooms first. Outside his own, Bran stopped, turning to his two older brothers. "You made that whole thing up, didn't you?" he asked.

"Maybe," Robb told him. "But if we did, we managed pretty well together, did we not?"

And as Bran lay in his bed, waiting for sleep to reach him, he had to admit that was true.


	9. Catelyn II

**Catelyn**

It was cold. She'd thought it was cold in Riverrun, but she had been wrong. They had told her predictions were that winter was in the last stretch, that spring was fast coming, and indeed, back home it was easy to believe it. Home. Not home. This was her home now, and here Catelyn thought herself colder than she'd been at any point during this winter in the south. She tucked the furs more tightly around the bundle in her arms, pulled her own hood up, and continued forward. "_Winter is coming," _she muttered, feeling bleak as she did so; she was of the south, how could she live with these northeners where they worried about the next winter before this one was even over?

He would be here soon, she knew; he had told her to go ahead with some company, to get herself and the babe safe to Winterfell, promising he'd be there when he could. Lord Stark. Eddard. Her lord husband, the father of her child. Brandon had called him Ned, she knew. She wondered if she would, too. She barely knew him yet, of course, although that would not be an issue. They had their lives to know each other. He had seen her again, after a long time away, at Riverrun. He had smiled, kissed her cheek and held their son briefly before sending her ahead. Robb, little baby Robb, had been asleep at the time, so this, as far as Catelyn was concerned, would be the first time he met his father.

She stepped inside, and she and her son were taken to a room, met with unexpected warmth. She didn't question it, not yet, she was simply grateful. Catelyn took a seat, lowering her hood again and balancing the little infant on her knee. What did she really know about Eddard? She knew he was an oddly handsome man, strong and brave, determined to fight for what he believed was right. The honourable Lord Stark, she knew they called him. Ned Stark, honourable, fair, a good lord who would be a good husband. And he'd fathered a bastard. She knew that, too. Everybody did, of course. It didn't bother Catelyn, not particularly. She barely knew Eddard, and, well, men at battle fathered bastards, it was a fact. She did not know who the boy - she'd heard it was a boy - had been mothered by, but she assumed that Eddard would keep him and the mother both well-fed and cared for. It would not bother her, she'd already resolved. He would be nothing to her, this boy, she would never see him, never had to acknowledge him. The child on her knee was Eddard's son, his heir, and the only trueborn child he had. Some ghost of the war would not ruin her marriage before it had even begun.

She glanced around the room where she sat. It was so...busy, servants everywhere, an armourer, a maester, a stableboy. Would she ever learn all of their names? Of course she would, they were _hers _now, hers to command and pay and listen to. One of the women, a pretty young thing with a babe on her hip, saw her staring and smiled, walking over. "May I sit here, m'lady?" she asked, gesturing to the seat across from her. Catelyn nodded, and the girl sat.

She was common, no doubt about that; the way she spoke to Catelyn, the clothes she wore. Catelyn wondered who she was, what her job was here. Perhaps a handmaid, or a kitchen worker. "What is your name?" Catelyn asked, not unkindly, smiling both at the girl and the babe she held, a babe who was slightly smaller than her Robb was, but not by much.

"My name is Wylla," the girl replied. "And this is Jon." She bounced the babe on her lap, causing him to giggle quietly. He was a lot quieter than Robb, it seemed; Catelyn's own son was making little demanding noises as he stretched towards the other boy.

"Is he your son?" she asked Wylla, restraining Robb as he tried to wiggle off her lap.

"He's mine to care for," Wylla replied, her own smile slightly mysterious. "Perhaps he will make a good playmate for your own boy, m'lady? The little lord certainly seems eager."

"Perhaps," Catelyn replied, jogging her knee up and down to calm Robb down - he was now squalling in impatience. "Are you under our employment, Wylla?"

"Only for another year or so," Wylla answered. "Then I'll return home."

"I doubt your boy will be much of a playmate for my son, then," Catelyn said, laughing.

"And why not?" Wylla asked. "He'll be here as long as yours is."

Catelyn frowned. "You would leave him here?" she asked, brow furrowing. The woman was common, so the boy couldn't possibly be fostered here.

"He's mine to care for now, my lady, but a boy's place is with his father." It was then Catelyn noted the woman's odd wording, how she neither confirmed nor denied that the babe was hers.

"Who is his father?"

"Why-"

The doors opened then, and in he came. Her husband. She stood, holding Robb tight in front of her chest. The woman Wylla stood too, her own boy held once again to her hip. Eddard approached, bowing his head. "My lady," he said. She smiled back at him.

"My lord," she replied. "Your son," she added, holding Robb out. Eddard took him into his arms, and that was the first time Catelyn saw his smile properly, a glowing smile, a beautiful smile, as he looked at the boy.

"Here he is," Wylla said, and Catelyn turned to look back at her. Wylla was talking to the boy in her arms, one hand pointed at Eddard.

"Wylla," Eddard said, his voice tight. "I thought I requested that you take Jon to bed early tonight."

"You did, m'lord," Wylla said, with a half-curtsey and a glance at Catelyn. "But I thought he would want to see you, and to meet his new brother?"

"...brother?" Catelyn asked hoarsely.

"That will be all, Wylla. Please take Jon to bed," Eddard replied, his voice sharp. Wylla nodded again, taking the babe away.

Catelyn looked at her husband, who looked back at her steadily. "She is his wet nurse," he explained, his voice calm. "Jon is my blood, and he will be staying here with us. I thought he and Robb would be..."

"You brought your _bastard _back home with you?" Catelyn demanded, realising that this was not the best way to start off their home life, but not caring. "_Robb _is your blood, Eddard. And mine. That boy has no place with him, or with me."

"That boy is mine to care for, Catelyn," Eddard replied stiffly, a mocking echo of the words Wylla had said to her moments before. "I am sorry you were not prepared, and that it was thrust upon you, but here he will stay."

She stood there, stunned. "If you had only broken your vows, my lord, I could have accepted it," she said, her voice ice. "But I will not have you shame me by making me accept the product!"

"Accept or not, he will stay," Eddard replied, stubborn, but still calm.

Catelyn lifted her son back from his arms, turned on her heel, and found someone to take her to her bedchamber. She would not listen to another word.

Hours later, someone entered her room with a glass of wine for her, while her babe slept in his nursery in the next room. "Where is my lord husband?" she asked the man.

"He is out praying, my lady. In the godswood," he replied.

Catelyn waved him away, lying back on her pillows. Even his gods were different, she mused. She would forgive him, of course; at least, she would hold her temper, and apologise for her behaviour. They would sleep together tonight, lay as man and wife, for the first time since Robb was made. Perhaps they would make a new son. She found herself praying, too. Perhaps they would make lots of sons, and daughters; enough trueborn children to make him forget. Enough to wipe this blight from their lives forever.


	10. Theon

**Theon**

It was quite astounding, Theon reflected - and he wasn't usually one for reflecting - how much Jon Snow had changed since their last fight a few years previously. Robb had spoken to him that night, Theon remembered, begging him to be fair with Jon, telling him he'd spoken with Jon before coming to this room, pleading for peace between his two "brothers". Robb had been back to visit at night many times since then for the same reason, but the conflicts had altered. While eleven year old Snow would be willing to engage in a fist fight over whatever slight was given, he had grown into a considerably more quiet, reserved boy who would not consider it. Instead of physical confrontations, Jon tended to reply to him with contemptuous comments and exasperated facial expressions. Theon remembered one particular time, when he, Jon and Robb were sitting together, and Theon was bragging about his escapades for all to hear. Jon had sat apart from them slightly, sullen as ever, but upon hearing the name of a married woman - they fuck better, Theon recalled informing Robb - he had sighed loudly.

"Ass," Jon had muttered.

Theon's temper had flared. "Something to say, bastard?"

Jon looked up. "Ass," he repeated. "Robb, I will see you later," he added, standing and nodding at his brother before leaving the room.

Theon couldn't help but despise him more as time went on.

He thought he was so alone, did Jon Snow. It angered Theon, really. A little bastard like him, an entitled little lordling who complained about his life over and over again. And for what? They shared Robb's love between them, and although Sansa was continually negative towards Jon, she was barely more warm to Theon himself. Sansa was a proper little thing, paying him all the courtesies afforded to a ward, courtesies she need not deliver to her bastard brother.

But Bran had never warmed to him, Theon knew. Theon was fond of the second youngest Stark, but he knew the boy didn't trust him truly. The boy loved Jon just as he loved Rickon and Robb, and it was plain for anyone to see; it was Jon he went to for advice if not Robb, not Theon, not the older and wiser, but Jon. Little Rickon had barely any time to form connections with them all, but he knew Jon was his brother. Theon was not. And Arya, Arya Underfoot, she was firmly on Jon's side no matter the argument. She loved the bastard fiercely, and therefore had no such opinions of her foster-brother.

He remembered when he was younger, shortly after he'd arrived, he'd made the mistake of referring to "your lady mother" while chatting to Jon, referring to Lady Catelyn. Jon had stormed off, and Robb, then a strange boy to Theon, had dashed after the bastard without another word. And for what? Catelyn Stark hated Jon Snow, this was common knowledge to everyone, because he was proof that Ned Stark had been unfaithful and that was all she knew. Jon was convinced that Theon was "more part of the family" than he was, but Theon himself knew differently. Jon might have been hated by the lady, but he had a father who loved him and more siblings that adored him than tolerated Theon. Eddard was an honourable man, and he had tried to play the father to Theon on occasion, but Theon was a hostage. Catelyn treated him with darkness and suspicion as much as she treated Jon with disdain.

Jon Snow was here with his family, loved and protected. Theon was here specifically so he was available to die if needed.

As Theon sat at the window and watched Jon play some sort of game with the three youngest Starks, he thought of his own childhood, before he came here. Had he ever played with his brothers? With Asha? He wasn't sure he had; at least, not often. And as he saw Robb stroll out and join them, a tight feeling appeared in his stomach.

Theon, more of the family than the bastard of Winterfell? Jon Snow knew nothing.


	11. Rickon

**Rickon**

Arya wasn't in a happy mood, Rickon knew. He could tell she wasn't in a good mood because she was holding his hand far too tightly and dragging him along more quickly than his legs - which weren't _quite _the legs of a man grown yet - could move. She had been in a sour mood since this morning, their mother had insisted that she _must _dance at the upcoming feast at a fellow lord's home, at the very least with her brothers. The storm had only intensified when mother and father had begun to argue. They didn't often fight; even though he was only just three, Rickon could count the number of times they'd fought in his life. This was the second. No, Lady Catelyn and Lord Stark didn't argue often, but when they did, a dark mood lay over Winterfell for days, or until the matter was resolved, whichever came first.

Their father had stalked away to attend to his lordly duties, taking Robb with him to observe. Bran was in a lesson with the maester, and Sansa had followed their mother to do whatever their mother was doing. That left Arya and Rickon to do what they would, and Rickon had decided that playing with his older sister would be more fun than wandering around alone. He was beginning to regret this, however, as Arya ignored his protests and demands that she slow down.

"You don't _have _to come with me, Rickon," Arya said impatiently the third time he told her to slow down.

"I _want _to!" Rickon snapped. "You're too fast!"

"Am not. You're too slow."

"_Not!"_ Rickon scowled.

"Yes you are. Like a slug."

"I'm not a slug!" Rickon shrieked. He was _not _slow, he was _not _an icky slug; he was Rickon Stark, a _wolf. _He was next after Bran in line for Winterfell, and he would be a lord one day. "_You're _a slug."_  
_

"Stop teasing the baby, Arya," a voice said from behind them.

They both turned, and Arya grinned, black look momentarily faded. "We were looking for you!"

Rickon did not share her smile. He frowned more deeply, glaring. "I am not a baby, Jon!"

Jon laughed. "No, you're a fierce little man, aren't you?" he asked, gaining a stout nod in reply. "So what's wrong with our sister, my good man?"

"They're fighting," Rickon answered, proud to be asked. "And dancing."

Jon looked confused. "Who's fighting and dancing?" he asked, glancing at Arya. He began to walk again, Rickon and Arya following him, back towards the courtyard where many of the other castle children were playing.

"Mother and father," Arya replied sullenly. "And they aren't fighting _and _dancing. They're fighting _about _dancing."

Jon didn't look any less confused.

"They're not," Rickon interrupted. "They're fighting about Jon."

Jon gave a grim smile. "Ah, I see. This is about the feast? Robb mentioned something earlier; father wants me to attend, doesn't he?"

"And mother doesn't," Rickon answered. He didn't understand really, didn't quite get why his mother really, really didn't like Jon. Maybe it was because Jon looked the most like their father? But Arya looked like him too, and besides, their mother _usually _liked their father a lot. He didn't know what else it could be, really; Jon was a good brother and Ned often told him he was a good boy.

"And we have to dance," Arya said, looking pained. "I can't dance."

"Yes you can."

Arya shook her head.

"Must I teach you?" Jon asked, one eyebrow arched, a wicked smile on his face. Arya looked at him uncertainly, until Jon grabbed her hands and started whirling her around.

"No!" she shrieked through her laughter. "I need to do it _properly!"_ Jon slowed her down, ruffling her hair.

"You're right, little sister," he replied. "Alright, well, put your hand on my shoulder, and give me the other_, _and-"

"Me too!" Rickon piped up. "I need to, too!"

Jon looked down at him with a smile. "You're right," he said. He glanced over Arya's head. "Beth?" he called, and the daughter of the master of arms pulled away from her friends and approached with a smile. "Will you dance with Rickon?" Jon asked her. The girl giggled and nodded, stepping in front of Rickon, who stood as straight as possible - Beth was taller than he was.

"My lord," she said quietly, with a little curtsey which made Rickon happy. He bowed low.

"Lady," he replied. Beth giggled again, and took one of his hands, placing it lightly on her waist, and holding the other. She began to turn slowly on the spot, while Rickon lead her round. He heard Arya laugh and looked at his brother and sister, saw them spinning faster and faster. He looked back at his partner, focusing and concentrating, because he'd never done it before, even if Jon had.

"Shall we go faster, my lord?" Beth asked. "You're very skilled at dancing."

Rickon nodded. "If you want," he said, picking up his feet and dashing around, quicker than Beth could turn. He wasn't sure how, but somehow he managed to get tangled, and the next thing he knew he was landing bottom-first on the ground. His lip wobbled, and Beth was anxiously trying to pull him to his feet.

"It's okay," Jon's voice interrupted, hoisting him up and sitting him on his shoulders. "Rickon's a big man, he doesn't need any help."

Rickon laughed from the top of Jon's shoulder's, suddenly towering over everyone else. "I'm the Lord of Winterfell now! I'm biggest!" he said, causing Arya and Beth to laugh. Rickon's laughter joined them as Jon dipped him forward as he bowed before pulling himself back up.

"Put him down. You could have hurt him." The voice was icy, and although Rickon couldn't see, he recognised it. Jon lowered him to the ground as Arya protested that Jon had held Rickon tightly.

"I would not see that again," Mother said, without so much as another glance at Jon, even as he muttered another apology. "Come along, Rickon. Arya."

"Can Jon come?" Rickon asked.

"Just go, Rickon," Jon whispered, pushing him forward slightly. Arya took his hand again, leading him towards their mother and away from their brother, and Rickon still didn't understand.

"Still," Arya whispered to him. "At least we can dance now."


	12. Eddard II

**Eddard II**

"Father?"

Ned looked up from the letter in front of him with a smile at his six year old son. "Come in, Bran," he said. "Have you got-ah, well done."

The boy came forward, his eldest sister in tow. She looked lovely today, did Sansa; a deep blue dress bringing out the colour of her eyes, her hair braided behind her head. Her eyes were lowered to the ground, however; she did not want to look her father in the face. She knew why Bran had been sent to fetch her, after all, even if Bran himself had not been told.

"Sansa," he greeted. "I would have a word with you, if you are not too occupied."

"Of course, Father," Sansa said, approaching, still not meeting his eyes, and gracefully sitting on the chair on the other side of the table. Bran turned to go, but Ned called him back, saying how he'd much prefer that Bran heard this too. The boy turned, glancing around for a place to sit. Finding none, he stood awkwardly until his father beckoned him over and balanced him on his knees. Would that he could still do the same with all of his children.

"Am I in trouble?" Sansa asked, and Eddard nodded once, much to her apparent dismay.

"I heard you were fighting with your sister again," he said, tone neutral, allowing her to respond. She didn't, so he went on. "She tells me that, ah, '_someone _had to stop up her stupid mouth because she doesn't know when to do it herself'. Bran here explained that you were speaking poorly of Jon." His son, to his credit, did not flinch; he continued to look straight ahead, although his hand tightened on Ned's arm which was around his waist.

Sansa had the grace to look ashamed. "Father, I was only trying to correct her. She was talking about him being Robb's closest brother in age, giving the impression that he was next after Robb is, which he _isn't. _I couldn't allow the others to get the wrong idea."

"And what is the right idea?"

"I told them he was a bastard; in terms of inheritance, he is nothing. A ghost that lives in our home," Sansa replied. Seeing her father's expression, she spoke again. "It's what _Mother _would have said!"

"Jon isn't Mother's family," Bran reproached, with the high, strong reproval that only a child could manage. "But he is yours, and mine."

Ned found himself smiling, tightening his arm in a quick, gentle hug, proud of the boy on his lap. "Do you not care for Jon?" he asked Sansa. "Bran is correct; Jon is my blood, which means he is yours. Why must you torment him? Or do you simply enjoy arguing with your sister?"

She looked at the floor. "I do care for him," she muttered. "He is my brother, after all. Well. My _half _brother. But he upsets Mother, and he doesn't fit in here, and he likes Arya and Robb and Bran and even the baby much better than he likes me and he's your favourite and he just acts like he's the same of us, and he _isn't_."

Ned stared at the girl for a minute. "I do not have favourites," he told his oldest daughter, his voice soft. "And Jon cares for all of you, _all _of you, very much. You know that, Sansa; you would not have the opportunity to push him away if he did not try to be near. And why isn't he the same as you are here?"

Sansa looked up, indignant. "I am your trueborn child, and he's just a bastard."

"May I, Father?" Bran asked, twisting his head to look at Ned. Ned nodded, and Bran faced his sister. "You're a girl," he told her. Sansa looked confused, but Bran continued regardless. "You're a girl, and me and Robb and Rickon are your brothers. So how is Jon different from you, or Arya, or even maybe Rickon and me?"

"I don't..."

"Well, when father dies, Robb'll probably already be married and have his own children, probably sons as well as daughters. So when that happens, none of the rest of us have a chance of inheriting _anyway, _so how does that make Jon different?"

"He's still a bastard," Sansa objected, while Ned smiled at his little son's wisdom. He was growing quickly; he hoped it didn't fade as he grew further. "He's still not a Stark, and he's still a ghost in Mother's eyes."

"His name may be Snow," Ned told her, "But he has the blood of the Starks in his veins; as much as you do."

Sansa stared at him, and then nodded. "I will apologise to Arya. And to Jon," she told him. Ned nodded at her, beckoning her over and embracing her with his other arm, but still he felt uneasy. He knew that she had listened, but he was not convinced she would keep to her acceptance.

The three sat in silence briefly.

"Father?"

"Yes, Bran?"

"Why does she call him a ghost? He isn't invisible." Yes, indeed, Bran was wise, but he was still a child yet.

"Because," Sansa said quietly, surprising Ned by answering in his stead. "He is our half-brother, perhaps, but he is not our mother's half-son. He's _always _there, he's _never_ invisible. Right, Father?"

"Indeed. Jon isn't a ghost because he's invisible, Bran. He's a ghost to your mother because his very existence haunts her."

Sansa spoke as Bran considered his words. "And why won't you tell her?" she asked, without having to explain what. Ned smiled, sadly this time.

"Because, Sansa," he answered, thoughts in his head which hadn't been there for a long time. "In a different way, I suppose Jon is a ghost to me, too."


	13. Robert

**There seems to have been some confusion last chapter. Just to clear it up, all Sansa was asking was why Ned didn't tell Catelyn who Jon's mother is. Enjoy~  
**

**Robert**

It was over. Rhaegar was dead, Aerys was dead, and Robert was king. And what a reward that was. Ned would have done a better job, or Jon - hells, _Jaime Lannister _would probably do a better job than he would, child he was and kingslayer besides. But it was Robert, Robert with his Targaryen blood, eldest of Rhaelle Targaryen's grandchildren, who had the claim, and Robert who had the throne. Robert who would wed the Lannister woman and have her bear his children - his trueborn children, anyway. His heirs. Yes, he'd wed Cersei Lannister, not Lyanna, because Lyanna was dead, and Robert was a king. A sweet reward indeed.

He'd worn the crown and sat on the throne; the former was too heavy and the latter was more uncomfortable than anything he'd faced in his life. That would be it from now on, would it not? His rule, his responsibilities. Heavy and uncomfortable. So now he'd escaped, just for the afternoon, taking one last walk with Eddard Stark as a friend before he was truly his king. He didn't know where they were going, but as soon as Ned had told him he had a duty to perform before going back to his wife at Riverrun and then on to Winterfell, Robert had jumped at the opportunity to tag along. His friend had been quiet and shifty the entire journey, putting Robert on high alert. That, and the fact that the king had no idea where they were or where they were going. He had briefly thought they were heading to where one of his bastards lived with its mother, but Ned turned right instead of left without a word, putting that idea away to bed.

"Robert," Ned said, stopping abruptly outside a small house and turning to face him. "I warn you now, this may come as a bit of a shock to you." He looked more nervous than ever, causing Robert to frown.

"What would shock me now, Ned?" Robert asked him, trying to sound reassuring.

Ned just smiled sadly, turning and opening the door. He crouched slightly to get through into the dark space, Robert following behind. Ned padded into a room two doors into the corridor, lightly knocking the door as he did so.

When Robert entered behind him, he paused in the doorway to take in the scene. There was Eddard, sitting on the very edge of a bed next to a woman who Robert could not place. In his friend's arms was a bundle of swaddling cloth which was moving and cooing. Robert quietly approached, and the woman looked up, startled, until Ned nodded for him to come and look.

Robert looked. The babe in Ned's arms was small, but clearly already at least a few weeks of age. It clutched at one of Ned's fingers, focusing on it in wonderment through deep grey eyes. A fuzz of dark baby hair was sprinkled lightly across the baby's head. It was obvious, even at a glance, that this boy was a Stark by blood; he looked like them all. Like Brandon, like Benjen, like Lyanna...like Ned.

"This is Jon, Robert," Ned said quietly as the babe giggled.

"Jon," Robert repeated, in awe despite his earlier protestations that he would not be shocked. "For Jon Arryn?"

Ned nodded. "I thought it was appropriate. He is a brother and a father in one, and deserves no less an honour."

Robert watched in silence as Ned bounced the baby gently. "He's yours?" he asked finally.

Ned didn't answer for a long time, before he nodded again, not meeting Robert's eyes.

"And I assume this isn't the baby who was waiting back at Riverrun with your lady wife?" Ned looked up, and Robert hastily added, "Not that I'm one to judge, Ned. We both know that!" He laughed.

"I haven't met Robb yet," Ned told him, looking back down at the child in his arms. "I hope they grow up close together."

"You're taking him back with you?" Robert asked, not attempting to veil his surprise. He himself had a few bastard children; it was what men did, after all. They were all perfectly happy with their own mothers.

"Yes."

"Who is his mother?" he asked as the child began to cry quite suddenly. Ned handed him over to the lady beside him, who clucked at the child and offered him her breast to feed. Ned thanked her, then turned to Robert.

"This is Wylla," he told him.

"And she is the mother?"

Ned didn't answer, a silence which could have meant anything. Robert decided to take this as an affirmative; this Wylla was a pretty young thing, after all. It was as likely her as anybody else. "Wylla will be coming back to Winterfell to nurse Jon until he is older."

"Catelyn will love that," Robert muttered, and again Ned said nothing.

"He's my blood," Ned told him. "My family. A Stark. He belongs in Winterfell."

Robert looked at his best friend, shaking his head, filled with admiration. "He won't be a Stark, Ned, just as none of mine are Baratheon. What is it you call them up north?"

Ned looked sideways, back at the boy. "Snow," he said, softly.

"Snow," Robert repeated, laughing. "You must warn your lady, Eddard Stark. Winter is coming to Riverrun."


	14. Sansa II

**Sansa II**

She knocked on the open door, looking in at where all of her brothers were gathered with her half-brother, Robb and Bran and Jon laughing as Rickon pointed at items in the room and tried to speak their names. As Sansa stood there, her youngest brother pointed at a table and said "chair", causing the laughter to start anew.

Sansa knocked again, louder. She cleared her throat and said in a slightly loud tone so as to be heard. "Jon?"

Bran was explaining to Rickon the difference between a chair and table, but both Robb and Jon looked up. "Sansa," Jon said, sounding faintly surprised. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, um...I mean, may I speak with you?"

Jon and Robb exchanged looks, and whatever passed between them passed in that silent way that they did - Sansa found herself jealous of them, sometimes; she could never have the same kind of bond with Arya - and Robb stood. "Come on, little man," he said, swooping down and lifting Rickon up and over onto his back. The little boy giggled and clung to his shoulders. "You too, Bran," added Robb, and Bran smiled and got to his feet, taking the hand that wasn't holding Rickon's leg. Bran looked at Sansa curiously as they passed, but other than that, none of them said a word.

When they were gone, Sansa closed the door behind them and turned to look at her half-brother. Suddenly, all the words she'd rehearsed were gone.

"Come and sit down," Jon suggested, pointing to the end of the bed beside him. Sansa nodded and walked over, sitting down and folding her hands in her lap, staring at them. "What's wrong?" To his credit, Jon was trying to sound like a wise, helpful older brother, but Sansa could hear the surprise and confusion in his voice - '_why would she come to me?'_, she imagined he was thinking.

"I'm sorry, Jon, I really am. I never meant to be hurtful, or rude, and I certainly didn't mean to dishonour you in front of our visitors. I was just trying to correct Arya, because she was being wrong, and you _are _a bastard, and I spoke because my mother wasn't there to speak, and then when Arya said it was cruel to treat you as a bastard I just got so angry because it was like she was calling our _mother _cruel, and-"

"Stop now," Jon said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, horrified to find her eyes prickling. She would not cry. That was _absurd_. "Don't be upset, Sansa. I accept your apology."

"Really?"

"Truly," he said, laughing. "You were perhaps a little...harsh, but you're still my sister, and you have apologised."

"Half-sister," Sansa corrected automatically.

Jon snorted. "Half-sister, then."

"Sorry."

Jon didn't reply that time, squeezing the shoulder that his hand rested on in a reassuring way. They sat together in silence for a few moments before he spoke. "For what it's worth, Sansa, I don't think your mother is cruel, anymore than I think you are."

"You don't?"

"No," Jon said, but there was a sadness in his deep grey eyes, a look she often saw on her father's face when he spoke of his past. "No, she's never said a cruel word to me, Sansa. She's just...cold. She...just just doesn't like me."

Sansa stared at him. "I don't..."

"You don't like me much either, Sansa," Jon went on. "But the difference is, you have the family love, the link. You are sometimes harsh, but at the end of the day you will come and apologise, because you don't really want to hurt me. Your mother...your mother is not my mother. She's just...a lady who is married to my lord father, and I'm just a bastard. She's cold, as cold as ice. She keeps as far away from me as possible, and when she does speak to me, it's frosty and clipped. But she isn't cruel, no. She's just a mother, and a wife, and I'm a threat to both in her eyes."

"That's...that's a good thing, right?"

Jon smiled at her, rueful. "No, not really," he said. "Sometimes it feels worse."

They sat quietly for a while, and then Jon spoke once more. "Thank you for your apology, Sansa."

"Y...yes. I should go."

Jon nodded, and Sansa hurried to the door. She opened the door, and paused. "Jon?" she said, not turning around. "You might just be my half-brother, but you _are _my family."

Jon made no sound for a moment. "Mind you apologise to Arya, too," was all he said, but Sansa could hear the smile in his voice. She left the room, collecting her thoughts in the hallway for a moment.

Jon Snow was nothing but a bastard. But, deep in her heart, she knew: bastard he may be, but he was a bastard of Winterfell, blood of the Starks. And as her father once told her, the wolves of a pack should stay together.


	15. Robb II

**Robb II**

"I was always closest to my brother Jon," he told her, his voice muffled by the feather pillow he lay against. "I love..._loved__..._my younger brothers, and my sisters, but it was always Jon who was my companion. Jon...and Theon." It almost physically hurt to say that name, and perhaps she noticed him wince. Her hand rested on his bare back, a gentle touch giving a world of comfort where words could do nothing. She traced her fingers from his shoulder to the middle of his back, gently, comfortingly, and made not a sound. She was letting him speak, he knew, and he was grateful for it, grateful for the peace she was offering him when everything else in his life was becoming so chaotic.

"Jon never liked him, you know," he continued. "They fought...always, fighting like animals. And then when Jon got a bit older, he responded to Theon with contempt and harsh words instead of fists. It just made Theon more resentful to him. To Theon, Jon was nothing but a privileged sullen bastard. And to Jon, Theon was simply an conceited, smug, ass. I always...I always played peacemaker." He felt his voice crack, felt his throat burn and his eyes nip. _Peacemaker! _For _Theon Greyjoy_!

"You did what a brother should," she said, her voice soothing, resting the moving hand on his shoulder. "You could not have known..."

"He...I _defended _him," Robb interrupted, turning in the bed to face her, wondering if the tear he felt in his heart was shown on his face. "I defended Theon. I got _angry _at Jon for being unable to get on with him. I never understood why Jon couldn't. Perhaps he just had better instincts than the rest of us. Perhaps his mother was a cat, and he got her instincts as well as those of a wolf."

"You had no reason to suspect-"

"But I did!" Robb exploded, and she winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...forgive my tone, my lady, I beg you."

She simply collected herself and smiled at him, moving her hand to his arm and stroking that instead of his back. "Tell me," she said to him, her voice gentle again.

"His father was a rebel, a traitor. Theon was a hostage, not a brother. But he...he was only a boy. Older than me. I looked up to him. He _fascinated _me. And he liked me. It was...it was a nice feeling. Jon was already there, of course, but he was my equal. Theon...Theon was someone to look up to. Someone young, full of life, daring...not like my lord father, who for all his wisdom was very much the noble lord."

"Your father-"

"My father was a good man," Robb told her firmly. She said nothing, just continued to run her hand up and down his arm. "He gave us everything, all of us. Myself, Sansa, Arya..." His throat tightened, but he spoke through it. "Bran and Rickon. Even his bastard, Jon. And he did try to play the father to Theon, he _did. _But there was always that...that barrier between them. The barrier between a hostage and his captor."

She said nothing, but she must have heard how bitter he felt. She squeezed his arm, staring at his skin, but Robb could tell she was concentrating on his every word.

"Your Grace," she started, but Robb interrupted her.

"Robb, please," he said, his voice momentarily soft before hardening again. "Hostage, yes. Theon may have been a hostage, but my father...I don't believe he would have harmed him. Eddard Stark would not have killed an innocent child. He was no monster." His stomach tightened again. "Would that he had been, and my brothers would still be alive."

She didn't speak this time, instead moving her hand from his arm to his waist, holding him close.

"I never understood why Jon and Theon didn't get along. They were both the outsiders after all, neither fitting into our family truly, the "ghosts" of Winterfell as my father once called them. And now, thanks to Theon, there are two very real ghosts in their places."

He sobbed then, he couldn't prevent himself. "My brothers. How could he? How? He was my friend...my own foster brother. Bran and Rickon were children; Bran was a cripple, and Rickon was barely more than a babe. I owe them. I must apologise, I must earn my forgiveness. From Jon, for not listening when I could have. From my brothers, because I couldn't protect them. To my mother, for her children, to my sisters, to..."

She cupped his face in her hands then and pulled his face to hers, gently touching their lips. "You needn't, Your Grace. Robb. You have done your best, and you have won many battles. Your family would understand. You'll get your vengeance, I swear, when you win this war and get them justice."

They lay silently, before Robb opened his mouth and uttered two words, unable to prevent his tone from becoming pleading. "Help me."

She kissed him again. "Let me comfort you, Robb," she said. "And tomorrow will be a new dawn. You can go to your mother and grieve for your brothers, and then go on and put an end to this slaughter."

His arms wound around her waist. "Will you come with me?" he asked her.

She stared into his eyes. "I will go anywhere with you, Your Grace."

"Robb."

When they were finished, she lay cradled in his arms, both near sleep. "When this is over, Jeyne, I'll take you to visit Jon on the Wall. He will adore you."

"I'm sure we will be great friends, Robb," she told him, draping an arm around his waist. "I already love his brother, and anyone who earns your praise so must needs have mine."

Jon would never marry, Robb thought to himself, as Jeyne slept. Not so long as he was a man of the Watch. But with Bran and Rickon gone, only Sansa and Arya were left, if indeed he still had sisters truly. Perhaps Jon...but that was a thought for another time. Jeyne would give him sons, he was certain. And when they arrived, he would tell them of their uncles and aunts, and how brave all his brothers and sisters - trueborn and not - were and had been. He would tell them of their grandfather, who was never a traitor. And he would tell them of his victory, his defeat of the Lannisters and the Greyjoys, and their laughter and love would wipe all the ghosts away forever.


	16. Arya III

**Arya III**

"But why _can't _you?" Bran demanded of their brother, looking rather upset as he did so. "I don't understand."

Jon sighed, crouching down until he and Bran were of a height. "Come on, Bran, you know you do. You understand _exactly _why I can't come with you. Besides, it's only for a few days, and you will have all of our brothers and sisters with you."

"But you _said,_" Bran objected. "You _said _we'd go fishing! You did, you and me and Robb. You swore it!"

"And we will, when you return from your journey."

"But you'll be here alone...with Theon! All you'll do is fight, and you _know _you're not supposed to fight with Theon, because it makes Father and Robb sad, and-"

"I'll stay away from Theon," Jon promised. "I'll spend all my time outside of lessons with Jory or training with Ser Rodrik or listening to Old Nan's tales, I swear. Actually," he added, as Bran did not look any happier, "I have a task for you while you're gone."

Bran moved closer, and Arya, who had been sitting on a log the entire time, watching their exchange and waiting for her turn to say farewell for now, leaned in too. She was curious.

"I need you to look after our sisters for me," Jon whispered, loud enough that Arya could pick up his words. "Robb will be far too busy with his duties as the eldest, and Rickon is far too young, so..."

"I don't need looking after!" Arya objected loudly, causing Robb, who had just entered the room, to laugh. "It's true!" she insisted as Jon and Bran looked up at her. "I'm not _Sansa, _I can look after myself. I _can__."_

_Besides, _she added silently, glaring at her stupid brothers who were all grinning at her, _I won't be in any danger. Just bored. _They would be with Mother and Father the entire time, after all; this whole journey was a visit to someone close to their mother. That was the reason that Jon was being left behind; usually when they went anywhere, their father would insist he accompany them, but this particular adventure was on behalf of their mother's name-day.

"Ser Arya Stark will be the one doing the protecting, isn't that right?" Jon asked with a smirk. She scowled at him in return for teasing her, the stupid.

"I'd be a better knight than _any _of you, even though I _am _a girl," she told them all firmly.

"Not better than me!" Bran told her. "I'll be the best knight there ever was. I could be in the Kingsguard, even! Maybe even the Lord Commander, so _there._" He stuck his tongue out, but before Arya could respond, Jon and Robb were both laughing.

"I have no doubt you would be a marvellous knight, if your sword was as sharp as your tongue," Robb told her with a grin. "Mother asked me to come and find you too, it's time to go."

"Are you sure Jon can't come?" Bran asked, and Jon just hugged him before pushing him gently towards Robb.

"Only a few days," he reminded him.

He turned to Arya then, and she ran over and hugged him close, even though he had teased her. He mussed her hair and told her she was to be careful, and good to their father and siblings and to her lady mother. Arya nodded then, before hesitating.

"Jon? Are you sad about not coming with us?"

Jon smiled at her. "Lady Catelyn is not my mother. It would not be right that I should come along. Off you go, now." He looked to Robb as she walked away. "Is Father still around?"

"He is speaking with Maester Luwin before we leave," Robb answered. Arya's eldest brothers had already said their farewells, and so all Jon did as he walked past was pat Robb's shoulder. Robb turned to Arya and Bran once Jon had left the room. "Shall we?" he asked them, and led them down the hallway towards where their mother and other siblings awaited them.

"Oh!" Arya said as they reached the heavy oak doors. "I forgot my, uh..."

"Hurry up, then. We'll wait for you," Robb told her, and Arya could see that he didn't believe a word she said. She smiled at him gratefully, running back along the hallway, up the stairs, quickly before she missed it. To her surprise, she bumped into the maester on the stairwell. She looked at him earnestly, out of breath, unable to say a word.

Luwin sighed. "In the second room along, Arya. My advice is you keep silent," he told her. "And I didn't see you, of course." He continued downstairs without another glance at her, and Arya hurried to the designated room, thrilled to see the door slightly open. She peeped in, listening as hard as she could. Eddard and Jon stood together in the middle of the room, clearly deep in conversation.

"...who she is, or was?" Jon was saying, a determined look on his face. She couldn't see her father's expression, but he sounded sad when he replied.

"Jon, I...I'm sorry, truly."

"You swore you'd tell me."

"And I will. When you are old enough to understand."

Jon turned away then, walking to the window in the room, out of Arya's sight. She dare not open the door any further to see what he was doing. "Tell me this, then. Did you love her, Father? Truly?"

Their father was silent for what seemed like an age before he spoke again. "Yes," he said, his voice sounding strangely choked. "Yes, I did love her. I loved your mother with all of my heart."

"Then why are you too ashamed of her to tell me-"

"Not ashamed," Eddard interrupted. "Bound. I promised her, Jon. She was a beautiful, brave, wonderful woman and I promised I would keep you safe until you were ready to know the truth."

"And when will that be, Father? When?"

"When you're a little older. I give you my word as a Stark and as your blood, I will tell you all as soon as you are ready. And as soon as I am."

Arya stood, fascinated. She'd never heard Jon even speak about his mother before with their father. And here was this conversation, and Eddard sounded so...earnest? And sad, too, deeply sad. What was it he was hiding, she wondered. And why wouldn't he tell Jon? She had the innate feeling that this conversation wasn't one she was supposed to be hearing, but it was _Jon, _so she'd listen a little longer.

"Does...does anyone else know who my mother is?" Jon asked.

"I have told no one," Ned promised. "You will be the first to know from me."

Jon came back into view then, heading towards the door. Arya jumped, ready to run, but Eddard spoke again. "Jon? I'm sorry we have to leave you here," he said.

Jon turned back then. "I understand," he said, and Arya could hear their debate was over. "I will see you soon, Father."

This time, he really was coming to the door. Arya turned to rush away, but too late. The door opened, and Jon and Ned both stared out at her, both with identical half-amused smiles on their faces.

"I, uh...dropped my..."

"Eaves?" Eddard suggested, and Jon laughed, reaching down and messing her hair again. She slapped him away, but could feel the relief building - somehow, she wasn't in trouble.

"Let us keep this between us, yes?" Ned asked her, as Jon slipped his hand into hers.

Arya nodded.

"I'll walk you down to the courtyard," Jon said.

When they got outside, they said their final farewells and left. Robb tapped her shoulder as they sat together on their horse. "What was that about?" he asked her in an undertone. "And don't tell me that you didn't go off to listen."

Arya considered for a moment. "Nothing," she said finally. "Just saying their farewells."

Perhaps, had she been Sansa, she would have spent a long time dwelling on what she'd heard, or ask for help to figure it out. But it was for their father to know, and Jon to find out, and none of Arya's business. It didn't matter to her at all, really. Mother or father or whatever else, Jon Snow was her brother, and nothing would change that.


	17. Theon II

**Theon II**

He handed Lord Stark the greatsword, feeling a certain quiet pride as he did every time. It was stupid, he knew, but Theon always had a small thrill when he was trusted to handle Ice. The deserter was a pathetic looking old man, a haunted look in his eyes as he prepared to meet his death. He heard Jon Snow tell Bran not to look away; this was Bran's first execution, Theon remembered. How like Ned Stark's bastard to make this a solemn, serious responsibility, instead of the fact of life that it was - Eddard Stark was a lord, and lords must needs kill.

It was strangely comical. The Valyrian steel seemed to need only kiss the old man's neck before his head was away from his body, blood spurting everywhere and head rolling and bouncing, landing at Theon's feet. He looked down at the frostbitten head, staring up at him with a gaping mouth and no ears to speak of. He laughed, kicking the thing away.

He saw Jon Snow mutter something and roll his eyes; Theon couldn't hear what was said, but he could imagine the contempt without much difficulty. He chose to ignore it for once. And then they were riding, on the way back to Winterfell. He looked for Robb, but he was up ahead, arguing with and then racing with Jon. Eddard was talking to Bran, probably giving him some somber speech about what had just passed. So Theon's horse trotted along behind, alongside Jory, exchanging a few words about this and that, and then Snow's voice cut through it all.

"..._come quickly, see what Robb has found!"_

Jory trotted up to Eddard and the two exhanged some words. Lord Stark set his horse to up her pace, and Theon, curious, had his own mare race forward to reach whatever it was that Robb had uncovered. He and Jory reached the boys first, trading loud jokes between them as they raced about what they would find when they got there. "Mayhaps he's found a wench-_gods!"_

All his words deserted him as his horse reared from the sight. He desperately tugged at her reins with one hand, instinctively reaching for his sword with the other. Beside him, Jory already had his sword out and was warning Robb away from the thing.

"She can't hurt you," Robb said, grinning. He was cradling a bundle in his arms, and Theon stared at it, unable to comprehend entirely what he was seeing, a sick feeling in his gut. "She's dead, Jory."

Theon and Jory exchanged a look, both getting off their horses as Snow dismounted in front of them. What were he and Robb _grinning _about? This was..."What in the seven hells is it?" Theon demanded.

"A wolf," Robb said with a gleam in his eyes as he usually had when he teased. Not this time, though.

"A freak," Theon corrected, disgusted. "Look at the size of it." The huge dog - no, wolf - was iced over and the stench wafting from it was anything but pleasant. The maggots seemed to be enjoying its eyes, though. Its size was roughly that of Bran's mount and its teeth must have been nearly the size of Bran's head.

"It's no freak," Snow told him, in that condescending tone of his. "That's a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind."

A direwolf. _And you know all about those, don't you, Jon Snow? _"There's not been a direwolf sighted south of the wall in two hundred years," he spat back.

"I see one now."

Before Theon could give the bastard the retort he deserved, Bran let out a squeal of delight. Theon turned and saw the younger boy rush over to his brother.

"Go on," Robb said, "You can touch him."

Theon stared as Bran stroked the pup, unable to believe what he was seeing. What was Robb _thinking, _cradling the little monster in his arms like that?

"Here you go," Jon said, dumping another pup in Bran's arms. Of course, of _course _this was all the bastard's idea.

Hullen and Jory were both speaking, neither sounding at all happy about what they had discovered. Robb and Eddard were talking about how the thing died, and when they saw the antler in its neck, all fell silent. Lord Stark threw it to the side, mentioning his surprise the bitch had lived long enough to whelp. A few more inputs later, and Hullen said "No matter. They'll be dead soon enough too."

Bran cried out, sounding upset, but Theon had never agreed with anyone more than he did with Hullen that moment. These wolves made him uncomfortable, and they were terrifying. "The sooner the better. Give the beast here, Bran."

"_No!"_ Bran shrieked at him. "It's mine."

Lordling he may be, but Bran was just a boy. Theon turned to Robb to get him to explain why it was neccessary, a _kindness _even, but Robb demanded in his best Lord-Of-Winterfell voice that he put the sword away. Startled, discomfited, Theon barely registered the ensuing argument between the Stark children, Snow, and their father and his men. And then Snow spoke. It was the 'Lord Stark' that caused Theon to pay attention; Jon was never as formal with his father unless he was making his own base birth clear for a purpose.

_Five trueborn children. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord._

Theon snorted. Perhaps Snow thought he was being noble, but Theon knew better. He was not sacrificing himself for his trueborn siblings; he was being stupid. Still, it was queerly pleasing to see Snow left out of something that his siblings were given for a change; it was as if he wasn't a bastard for the most part, and it was only ever Theon who was excluded.

Robb and Bran were eager to grasp the chance, begging their father and bargaining until he relented. And then they were off again, but only halfway across the bridge, Snow brought his mount to an abrupt halt.

"What is it, Jon?" Eddard asked, the affection and concern sickeningly clear in his voice.

"Can't you hear it?" Jon asked him. "There." He raced back to the festering corpse, knelt, and hurried back, a white furball curled under one arm. "It must have crawled away from the others," he said, a stupid grin filling his face.

"Or been driven away," their father replied.

"An albino," Theon snorted derisively. "This one will die even faster than the others.

Snow stared at him, an icy, cold look that reminded Theon eerily of how Lord Stark himself looked when he was displeased. He stared long and hard, the direwolf he wore on his cloak - what right did he have to bear the direwolf? - flashing in the sun. "I think not, Greyjoy," Snow said calmly. "This one belongs to me."

And as the Stark children road and cooed over their new pets, and Lord Stark turned to go with a smile on his usually stern face, Theon had never felt further away from the direwolves - those on two legs or on four.


	18. Sansa III

**Sansa III**

She was doing some needlework when the three of them came into the room, Theon laughing and teasing, Robb looking downcast, Jon fighting a smile as he rested a hand on Robb's shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" she asked cautiously, setting the work down. Theon was laughing, yes, but Theon's sense of humour was...twisted, somewhat. The fact that Theon and Jon were walking together was the main reason for her alarm.

The three boys looked towards her, noticing her for the first time. "Nothing's amiss," said her half-brother Jon, in that calm way of his.

"That's a matter of opinion, Snow," Theon laughed, patting Robb's other shoulder twice.

Sansa was amazed to see Jon's lips twitch, although he managed not to give a proper smile. "Nothing's amiss," he repeated.

"What _happened?"_ she demanded, getting to her feet. "Robb, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," Robb told her, his voice dull.

"He tried to woo a wench, Sansa, and failed for his efforts," Theon told her, still clearly amused. "I have a woman of my own to be seeing, but I wanted to see him into the castle in case he jumped from the walls." He left the room without another word, the odd chuckle still clearly audible as he made his way down the hall.

"Which wen-girl?" Sansa asked. When Robb said nothing, she turned to Jon. "What did she say?"

"Just a girl from the town," Jon told her, taking a seat on the bench and pulling Robb down with him. "And she didn't really...say anything. Just walked away."

"Like you did better," Robb shot at him, clearly irritated. "How did your apology to the goose knight's sister go?"

That wiped the smile from Jon's face. "Nita closed the inn door on me after glaring for a little while," he admitted, sounding a little subdued himself now.

Sansa stared at them for a few moments before sighing. "You two need a lot of help, don't you?" she said. When they both just looked at her, she sighed again. "_Honestly. _Do either of you have _any _idea how to talk to a lady?" The two boys exchanged glances, neither saying a word. She rolled her eyes. "Wait here."

Sansa walked out of the room and along the corridor, and returned with Jeyne at her heels, having explained the situation. "Now, we're going to show you how you should speak to a girl. _Any _girl," she told her brothers. "Jeyne, you can go with Robb, please."

"Sansa, I don't think this is-" Jon started.

"It is," she said curtly. She walked over to him, and instantly changed to her most demure, lady-like behaviour. "I am honoured to meet you. My name is Sansa Stark."

Jon looked at her for a moment, bewildered, before replying. "I'm Jon," he said finally. "Jon Snow."

"No!" Sansa said sharply. "That is _not _what you do when a lady introduces herself." Jon and Robb were smiling now, but she ignored them. "When a girl tells you her name, you should tell her that it's pretty. That's what a courteous man would do. Robb, you try, please. Jeyne."

Jeyne giggled, and said, "I'm honoured, my lord. My name is Jeyne. Jeyne Poole,"

Robb was still smiling as he spoke. "Jeyne is a pretty name," he told her. "My name is Robb Stark."

"That's it!" Sansa said, clapping her hands together, with the excitement that only a ten year old could possess when something went right. She turned to Jon again. "My name is Sansa Stark. I am pleased to meet you."

Jon and Robb glanced at each other, both barely containing laughter now. "A lovely name for a lovely maiden," Jon said with all the overbearing courtesy of a mummer-lord. "My name is Jon Snow, and the honour is mine."

There was a pause, and then Robb burst into laughter.

"Don't laugh!" Sansa said indignantly. "That was _good!" _But Jon was laughing too, and even Jeyne was giggling, and she knew that Jon had been being silly. "Oh alright," she huffed. "I get it. But if you _do _want to please a lady, that _is _how you should speak. Don't mock!"

"It _was _a little much, Sansa," Jeyne said.

"I wasn't japing, though," Robb interrupted, with a smile at the girl. "Jeyne _is _a very pretty name." Jeyne blushed bright red, determinedly not looking at him.

"You've cheered Robb, at least," Jon said to Sansa. "And me."

"You should heed what I said, Jon," Sansa said, still feeling a little stubborn.

"I will," he laughed.

"'Jon'?" Robb called over. "A lovely name for a lovely ser!"

"Oh hush," Sansa said. "Come, Jeyne." She walked over to her work, picking it up. "If they do not want to listen, we should take our work elsewhere."

Jeyne collected herself and rushed for the door, Sansa following just behind. But as she closed the door behind her, she heard Jon and Robb teasing each other and laughing, and she couldn't quite stop herself from smiling too.


	19. Theon III

**Theon III**

A Greyjoy is not a Stark, but when the kraken is raised by the wolf, what does that make him? _Brave, _Theon thought to himself as his horse galloped closer and closer to the sea that he hadn't seen for ten years. He could smell the salt in the air, he could _taste _it, and it enthralled him, it drew him in. The wolf didn't swim, at least, not for long, but the kraken needed the waves to sustain it, and Theon had been away from the water for far too long.

A Greyjoy is not a Stark, his father had told him sternly, while pimply little Asha had stared at him from the shadows, not quite wanting to bring herself out to say farewell. And Theon had remembered. Ned Stark had been kind to him - as kind as a potential executioner could be - and he had, for the most part, gotten on with his children, but he had never fit, not really. Only Robb...but what did that matter? He was going _home, _where the only brothers that mattered were dead and gone, where his boyish, awkward sister was not as intimidating as stately little Sansa, where he _belonged._

Theon Greyjoy was a prince, and he'd almost forgotten that in his long, long stay at Winterfell. The heir to the Iron Islands now, he was. When they had called Robb as King in the North, Theon had hailed with them. Robb, he firmly believed, would be a good king, and he deserved what he was fighting for, deserved support. Yes, Robb would be a worthy king...and so would Theon.

His heart felt like it was pumping faster than usual as his destrier sped up to a trot, closing the gap between him and his home. There was a hired galley waiting, one with a good captain with a healthy daughter, both of which pleased him immensely. His people were calling, his father, his mother...

His mother. Was she still ill? Perhaps she thought him gone forever - no, surely not. She knew where he was. Ten years was a long time, but surely his mother, surely the Iron Islands had not forgotten him. He was their rightful king, or would be when his father passed on. They probably awaited his arrival, probably had done every day for the last ten years.

_Or have they forgotten you? Have they moved on, Theon Greyjoy? Do they think you dead, or good as?_

"No!" he said aloud and firm to nobody in particular. No. And even if they had, he would soon show them otherwise. _What is dead may never die._

He started. It had been so long since he had thought that, so long since he properly remembered his god - one god, not multiple. He had never felt welcome with the northern gods, nor Lady Catelyn's southron Seven. But "gods" was a phrase that had entered his daily speech; he must rid himself of the habit for returning. The ten year old Theon had left, and indeed, maybe they had forgotten about him. _But rises again, harder and stronger._

And rise again he would.

He would broker the alliance between House Stark and House Greyjoy. They would take down the Lannisters together; Robb would get justice for his father, and Theon would prove himself to his own.

He hadn't known how to feel when Eddard Stark had been killed. It had twisted in his gut, a dull ache, when he heard. He did not weep, though Robb had. Ned Stark was not his father, no, he had been an enemy to his own father. But Stark had raised him and educated him, if not as warmly as he could have. And besides, who cared whether Eddard and Balon had despised each other? Robb and Theon were close as brothers, and they would make an alliance which would stand against all.

And Robb would give his father his crown, and Theon would have it after him.

Theon and Robb would work together, yes, and neither would bow to the other. The wolf had raised the kraken, and now it had set him free. He would return home and claim his birthright, prove himself, remember who he was.

A Greyjoy is not a Stark, and you have to know your name.


	20. Jon

**Jon**

He watched them scrabble together, laughing as his white pup was nipped at by Arya's Nymeria and turned tail to chase her. It was astounding how... _human _they looked, these direwolf pups, although pups they would not be for long. They were already growing big, and as they grew, their personalities and odd similarities to their individual owners seemed to shine through. Bran's pup - the only other wolf who was yet to be named - catching wind of the game Nymeria and the albino were playing, made a high pitched yapping sound and joined the chase, snapping his teeth playfully as he ran. His chase was cut short as Shaggydog, Rickon's little black shadow, pounced on him, growling. It was clear to Jon, and indeed to everyone, that Shaggydog was already shaping up as the most unpredictable and volatile of the pack, but he seemed to suit the youngest Stark just fine. Robb's Grey Wind, ever the pack leader, padded over and growled until the fight was ended. About a foot away, Lady sat with the elegant dignity that thrilled Sansa so much when she came to her, watching her littermates play with a wary eye, close enough to see but not close enough to be a part of the ruckus.

Then Robb's voice could be heard, calling out to the puppies to come and get their food, and in a scramble of fur and noise five of the six wolves dashed off towards where it came from. One stayed behind and turned to where Jon was standing, not a sound escaping him. The albino pup padded over to where Jon stood, sitting at his feet and staring up at him.

"Did you know I was here the whole time?" Jon asked him, suspecting that somehow he had. And why not? Jon had known where the white wolf was when nobody else had, why not the other way around? "Why aren't you off eating with the others, eh? Do you need a seperate invitation?"

The pup continued to stare at him, making no sound. Jon put his hand on the albino's head, gently stroking his fur. "Shall I take you?" Jon asked. "Robb called on you all, you know." He walked away a few steps. The albino was indeed padding after him when he turned around. And what a quiet animal he was! An animal already the same size as a grown dog should make some noise when he walks, but the albino was silent as the grave, very different from his noisy pack.

Jon sometimes wondered, did the puppy sense his own difference to his brothers and sisters? They were loud where he was quiet, black and brown where he was white. They had been found together while the albino had almost been left behind. Had they truly chased him away, Jon wondered, or had the white wolf simply gotten lost? And did the albino really notice the difference, or was perhaps Jon projecting onto his new pet? "What do you think, pup?" he asked. The wolf stared up at him silently, and Jon laughed, kneeling down and beckoning the animal over. "I know you know what I'm saying," he told him when the wolf's muzzle was close to his face, his red eyes staring directly into Jon's own eyes.

The wolf nuzzled his face gently. "You know what I'm going to ask Uncle Benjen, don't you? You understand me. I know you do, I can tell. Will you be alright to leave them? Your brothers and sisters? We'll visit sometimes, I promise."

The albino made no noise, once again staring at Jon, and was it Jon's imagination, or did his facial expression seem to question who Jon was really asking?

"You're a clever wolf," Jon told the pup. "You won't mind, will you? You know everything. You _listen."_

The wolf nuzzled him again, bucking under his arm until it rested over the puppy's snow-white back.

"You're like me, aren't you?" Jon asked him softly. "Seperate from the rest. White as snow." He got to his feet, wiping the wet from the snow on the ground from his knees. "Come on, let's get you food."

He walked away again, once again having to stop to make sure the albino was following him.

"And quiet," he mused after stopping again. "I've never met an animal so quiet. You're like...you're like a ghost."

The wolf nudged him on the leg, and Jon smiled, knowing for certain what his pup was trying to tell him. "You like that?" he asked. "Ghost?" Another nudge. "Alright then. Let's be ghosts together."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed and favourited this fic since I started. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and hopefully I can try my hand at some other ASoIAF fic in the future, but for now, as they say**

The end.


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